Take a step back
by emjai
Summary: Love is a fire. But whether it is going to warm your hearth or burn down your house, you can never tell. In a tale of Romance, Passion, Love, Lust, Betrayal and loyalty: Rory Gilmore finds that perfect someone and is willing to risk everything for it.
1. Chapter One

_A/N: hello hello hello everyone! Wow, I'm sorry this is so quick after the death of my joint fic and I know I have a few people desperate for my thankstaking with an impressive wingspan story, but this is in my head right now and I had to write it. It's a totally different style to what I am used to so bear with me. Tell me if you love it, like it, hate it, loathe it, suggestions for plot, character or general development – I'll take everything into consideration. I have a basic idea of a plot and the suitor for rory is a huge secret. It an UC story – slightly AU as in its in the future. After you read this chapter if you have any questions -  I'll be giving more background information in next chapters a/n. so… read this – enjoy, hopefully – I'll be writing again soon. I have big plans for this one so just sit back and relax._

**Chapter One**

_I have a date tonight._

Rory smiled to herself.

_I have a date tonight with a handsome, intelligent, nice-smelling, well-mannered, average build doctor with a full head of hair._

Rory took a deep breath.

_I have a date tonight with a handsome, intelligent, nice-smelling, well-mannered, average build doctor with a full head of hair who lane, my mother **and** my grandmother all agree is a pretty good catch._

She scrunched up her head and thudded it against the wall.

_So, again, why am I hiding in the cupboard?_

Take a step back. 

We see a fully grown twenty-eight year old woman, Lorelai Leigh Dugrey – known as Rory Gilmore to her fans, curled up in the fetal position under a pile of winter coats.

Dressed to the nines – or 7.30's, depending on exactly how one wishes to look at the situation – in a blood red cocktail dress, a face painted to perfection and hair that, before flattened by the weight of five thick jackets, was pinned into a chic chignon that would make any model this side of the universe pistachio with envy (Her mother always noted that models never had enough emotions in them to produce a primary colour). So why was this woman hibernating as opposed to dating? Why, indeed?

After hearing the knocking on her door die down and the sound of steps retreating down the stairs from her apartment, Rory pushed the coats off her head and sat up slowly. She took a suspicious glance at the line of light showing through the wardrobe doors and, again, took a deep breath. She rested against the back wall and closed her eyes in relief, before sitting up and taking the thousand little brown pins out of her hair before she received puncture wounds. She twisted her body around and attempted to remove her burgundy stiletto heels – but as always just couldn't seem to get the hang of the tiny silver buckle holding the spaghetti straps together to resemble a shoe. 

She pulled on the lace fiercly, managing to break the buckle and - from the inertia - catapult her through the wardrobe doors, along with her entire winter wardrobe.__

She lay splayed out on her luxurious, white, shag-pile carpet and sighed once more. Sitting up slightly, she winced and rubbed her elbow muttering curses under her breath. Upon her mahogany bedside table her miniscule silver cell-phone began to shiver.

Midway rising from the pile of clothes on the floor, she froze and began to ponder the likelihood of her phone actually hearing her speaking and moving. Then, in order to torture her for being a pathetic waste a human being, the phone made sure somebody called her to catch her red-handed in a prickly pickle that seemed to repeat itself each weekend.__

The vibrations from the phone became harsher and longer, almost insisting on a response.

Rory denied it.

She stood up and brushed imaginary lint from her dress before tipping up her hcin and glaring defiantly at the shaking object that seemed to bleat at her. She took precise, purposeful steps to the table where she took the offending object and redirected the number to her voicemail and listened to a voice respond to her message:

'_uh…hey, rory? Um, this is Geoffery. I work with Dr.Kim? We were supposed to meet up for a date tonight, remember? Well, I –uh- came by your place at 7.30 to pick you up…and I probably got the night wrong or something, but you weren't there. So, uh, call me and we can sort things out – maybe set up another night? My direct number is 564-2598. Thanks. Uh.. Bye.'_

Rory rolled her eyes, 'they could at least try and sound as suave as they're supposed to be when they leave messages' she thought.

She quickly changed into her pink cheesecake flannel pajamas and tied her hair into a topknot before padding out of her room and into her tiny kitchenette. Grabbing a bowl and spoon, she pushed a frozen desert into her microwave and punched out some familiar numbers into the phone she then cradled between her shoulder and ear.

A sleepy voice resonated in her ear, "What."

She smirked, "well, well, well, aren't we a morning person?"

The grouch on the receiving line grunted and Rory heard them shifting around in their bed, before grinning mischievously, "tell me you weren't planning a lie-in today, monsieur?"

"Rory, you know fully well that I never get up this early, what on god –or whatever's- green earth do you want now?" he moaned.

She pouted, putting on a baby-voice especially reserved to tackle his mood swings, "aw come on jess, I just wanted to tell you about my date!"

"You actually went out on a date, tonight?" he sounded genuinely shocked.

"Well, I organized a date!"

"Rory…did you leave the building?"

"No…"

"Did you let him into the apartment?"

"No…"

"Did you hide in your room again?"

"Technically, no."

"Hiding in your closet doesn't count."

She curled her upper lip in frustration and adjusted so she held the phone in her hand, "fine! So maybe I didn't even see this guys face," he began to speak but she kept speaking, "BUT c'mon surely I deserve a break! I've been on 27 blind dates this past year and its only MAY!"

She heard him sigh, "Have you given any of them a chance, Ror?"

"Of course I," she paused, "Is your voice muffled or am I going deaf?"

"I'm trying to smother myself with my cushion."

"Good for you."

"Well, I try to have a purpose," he drawled.

She smiled and bobbed her head, "it's always a good thing!"

"Continue, Gilmore – stop dodging."

"So says the artful one himself," she muttered

He sighed, "I'm hanging up!"

"Okay, okay!" she cried, "You know, all that sighing can be bad for your respiratory system!"

The dial tone filled her ears.

She looked at the phone with narrowed eyes, "mean."

Dialing the number again she prepared herself for a rant,

He answered on the second ring, "you took more than 3 seconds this time."

"I didn't realize you'd been timing me, Mr. big-shot!"

"Well, it gets boring here."

"Oh I'm sure, Paris is terrible for lively-hood this time of year, " she rolled her eyes.

"Enough," he paused, "so, you wimped out on another date. Why? You're not still hankering for that jerk-off you married, are you?"

"God no, he cheated on me! Give me a little credit, would you?"

"hey, you're the one who married him in the first place," he stated."

"Yeah, big whoop, shut up."

"So how come you keep chickening out?" he asked, stressing the last words.

She made numerous frustrated sounds before replying, "Wouldn't you?"

"You may have to be reminded, but I'm actually_ IN _a happy marriage. Paris the person is a hell of a lot more enticing that then city itself!"

"details, details…"she scowled.

"Well, since you asked – the other night she and I tried this new –"

She held the phone away from her ear, shouting, "EW! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!"

When she put the earpiece back she heard him laughing, "so, why'd you hide out this time?"

"I didn't want another meaningless deadbeat night where I wished I had stayed home and had an evening I can _use_," she said, looking tenderly at the plate in front of her.

"and how are you going to find this 'one' you've been looking for if you aren't willing to venture out into the big wide world, little Rory Gilmore?"

"I venture out! I venture out all the time! Didn't you see my last piece on New Caledonia?" she exclaimed indignantly.

He let out another of his grunts, "You know what I mean!"

She put rested her forehead against the counter, mumbling "I guess I just don't want to get hurt again… I want somebody who I can relax with, who I can have fun with, someone who wants me for who I am, someone who _wants _me – period. I want someone…"

"Like the Easter bunny? Cos it's about as likely to find somebody that perfect for you," he said.

"Well, you found Paris, and you're the ultimate troubled person!"

"Well, then I guess there's hope for you," he said, she could hear the smirk in his voice

She growled, "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Seriously, ror – there's somebody out there for you. Somebody perfect. You may meet him tomorrow, next week, next year – you may have met him before… but you don't know until you open yourself up."

"Thanks for your advice, love professor."

"Anytime. I'm going to go back to my lie–in now; you go back to your chocolate mousse."

"How did you…?

He laughed, "Lucky guess."

She smiled contently as she hung up the phone.

Take a step back.

We see this woman, this beautiful woman – still with all her made up glory – sitting at her tiny kitchen eating chocolate as if her life depended on it. Does her life depend on it? Is it through these tiny guilty pleasures that she gets any pleasure at all?  We've learned she is waiting for something. Something special. Something perfect. She seemed to have it all – the looks, the beautiful apartment, the caring friend – but she now remains alone in her apartment, her large apartment with its classy white walls and dark furniture. Surely she has everything. But waiting for something? Waiting for someone. Well, maybe that someone will come along…like her friend said. Or maybe that person is already there, just waiting in the wings… We'll have to wait and see.


	2. Chapter Two

_A/n: okay guys, thanks heaps for all your reviews! I totally appreciate every single one of them – keep it up with all your feedback and I'll be sure to take ALL of it into consideration. In reference to some reviews: yes jess/Paris did seem to be a bit icky at first but the more I think about it, the more I think they'd be great together. They compliment each other in that Paris can help jess become that little bit tamer whereas jess can aid Paris in occasionally letting her hair down [and we all know jess like blondes ;)] and another thing, I know some of you are desperate for it to be a trory, because you just lloooooooooove Tristan [me too] but as I said before this is going to be a UC [UC means unconventional couple ;)] so I hope this will be interesting for you. As to whom Rory's man will be…only I and my partner in crime – oregano, because she's lovely: D – know who that man is. Those who speak to me regularly on a personal level will have an idea because I've been raving about this couple – BUT DON'T SAY YOUR GUESSES ON THE REVIEW BOARD! If you think you know who it is, feel free to email me and if you are right I may let you know :D but don't spoil the surprise for everybody else. Enjoy this chapter, and I'll be back soon!_

**Chapter two**

_Well, mom, I spoke to jess about my problem last night._

Lorelai grinned back at her.

_He basically told me to stop sitting on my keester waiting for **the** guy to walk my way and to get out there and find him myself._

Lorelai grinned back at her.

_You know you're much easier to talk to this way. No quips about jess…no remarks on how I don't have any guy-friends, except jess…no comments on how unlike yourself I am…no I told you so's… remind me to thank __Jackson__. Lunch break is over now, talk to you later!_

She turned around her photo-customized coffee mug and went back to her PC.

Take a step back.

The office isn't that spectacular. Filled with trendy colored cubicles and funky artworks on the wall, it attempts to be the height in office fashion – the workers there are all bright, blonde, sparky researchers and presenters who buzz around the corridors all day just sassing, backstabbing, gossiping about and flirting with their co-workers. All except one. It is in such an environment when Rory's true qualities begin to shine. Juxtaposed against such materialistic values, Rory beams with her humble outlook on life. She is either ignorant of or ignoring the men who repeatedly walk past her desk. She is so absorbed in her work she doesn't hear the queen bee's petulantly flap their bleached, laced wings while telling the nearest soul who'd listen about Rory's past life – her life before this modern world of television.

"Did you hear?"

"She came from a bumpkin little town in Connecticut…"

"Something to do with stars"

"She was a bastard"

"Obviously"

"You can tell"

"But she was always rich"

"Was she? I heard she lived in a shed"

"No she lived in a mansion"

"Didn't you know?"

"She went to that stiff-upper-lip snob school"

"Oh  ...whats it called bilton?"

"She married DuGrey"

"He cheated on her"

"Well, look at her!"

"What do you mean?"

"She's every mans dream"

"Then, why?"

"You always want what you can't have – and when you get it, it bored you. Or at least it bored DuGrey"

Rory sat on her own, thumbing through her papers, truly unaware of the talk that flew past her ears. She sits at her wide wooden desk, succumbing to a world which always fascinated her – the written word. Hunting through copious amounts of html codes, she researched her new topic for the week, her fingers fleeting across the keyboard, attempting to type up her vast knowledge. Her Yale study skills providing her with the 110 wpm typing rate that she was so proud of. Mid –sentence, her designer phone chimed. She answered it, still typing with her right hand.

"DuGrey's desk."

"Are you still using that name at work?" the sound of her childhood friends' voice filled her heart with a warmth she never usually felt in such a cold space. She felt her lips curve upwards as she bent her head slightly so as to not attract attention.

"I wouldn't be answering with the name if I wasn't using it, Lane," she scolded.

"But you can't be affiliated with him anymore – scum, lowlife, no good, good for nothing," she trailed off, "okay I'm definitely going to have to get a dictionary and make a bigger list of my descriptive words."

"Duly noted, I'll get you one for your birthday," Rory said, penciling 'dictionary/thesaurus' into her notebook. 

Her friend was quiet for a moment, and then her voice came back, small and hopeful, "Along with the best of 90's album?" 

Rory laughed, "along with the best of 90's album. So, Lane Kim, how can I help you?"

Lane took a deep breath and commenced her tirade, "Well, Miss Rory _GILMORE, you rudely snubbed _another_ of my fix-up's for you last night and in order to fully restore my respect for you: you are coming to dinner at our place tonight to meet Troy."_

Rory's eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, "I thought his name was Geoffrey?"

"Well, you obviously didn't like Geoffrey, so I got you a new one."

Rory groaned, "Please tell me you didn't just hold up a picture to a guy in the street, saying 'will you date this loser?' "

"NO!" Lane sounded shocked, and then hesitated, "I would never call you a loser!"

Rory thumped her hand against her forehead, wailing, "LANE!"

"Oh _come on, Rory! Please?" she begged, "I'll get Dave to cook that Indian dish you like…?"_

Rory was silent.

"Please, Rory? He's a nice guy, he is good looking too! And he doesn't stutter- I know you hated the stutterer…" she tailed off once more, "Rory?"

Rory raised her eyes to the ceiling, "okay. Fine," hearing her friend rejoicing, she kept talking, "But only because I want your house to smell wretched instead of mine!"

"Excellent! We'll see you around 7.30, okay?"

"Alright," she grumbled.

"Bye!"

At seven o'clock, Rory felt the itch again. She was dressed up tonight in an elegant black pants suit, with a starched white shirt buttoned up to her black lacy bra and her favorite black stilettos. A killer outfit for a power - woman on the hunt.  So why was this power-woman, for that label did indeed encompass Rory at the time, lying prostrate underneath her bed? She laid her head to one side, so as to not disturb her perfect high ponytail – just incase she felt like going. She pondered changing into her pajamas again when she heard a key fumbling in her lock. Rory was about to reach for the baseball bat she had stashed underneath her mattress when a male voice reverberated through her hallway,

"Roo-oory?" it called once, she could hear his footsteps moving through her rooms, "Roo-oory, its Daa-aave!" Rory's head kicked up an inch, "Lane honestly believed you would show up tonight but I had a sneaking suspicion you might not…" he tailed off. She could hear him moving stealthily through the apartment, checking in cupboards and under tables. 

Suddenly he was in her room.

He saw her, because what she didn't realize was that her favorite killer stilettos were sticking out from underneath the bed where she lay. 

He pretended to look around the room before walking out of the room and standing in the hallway, saying, "oh well, I guess you're not here! I must have just missed you then!" he sighed, "but that's just too bad because I brought some coffee with me for the ride – I guess I'll have to drink it all by myself." 

He saw her foot twitch as he took off the lid and let the aroma fill the room, he smothered a laugh and took an exaggerated sniff before groaning with pleasure, "gee, it smells good! Oh well, too bad Rory can't have ANY when she gets back to our place – you know how Lane's gone off coffee…"

"Alright, alright, alright!" she cried, scrambling from under the bed, "You got me, big whoop – now give me the coffee, evil temptress!" 

She grabbed the drink from his hand, avoiding his laughing eyes, and sculled the delicious hot java.

He took a swig from his own cup, and then said, "I'm a temptress? Looky at you, all dressed up ready to hunt the fresh meat!"

She leaned against her bedroom wall and grunted, narrowing her eyes at him, "you tricked me- I don't have to take compliments from you."

He laughed and shook his shaggy brown hair from his face, "no – I played you," he nodded at her pointedly, half smiling, "big difference. And why stop taking compliments from me now? You've been begging for them for years!"

She rolled her eyes and playfully smacked him on the arm, smiling at him, "it can't hurt to boost my poor," she pouted, "fragile," she put on her baby voice, "ego."

He just laughed at her.

They stood in silence for a moment, mulling over their own thoughts, until she stood up straight and looked at him expectantly, "so how long can we stay here for?"

He pretended to think about it for a moment before grabbing her and throwing her over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. "I think now is good to go, don't you?" He said, striding down the hallway.

She squealed and thumped his shoulders in protest before whining, "Can't we at least have cake first?"

He froze, "what sort of cake?"

She grinned, "Triple chocolate! I am my mother's daughter, you know."

He sighed and put her down, "almighty god, thank you for this glorious day!" He turned to her, "come on then, Momma always told me to never pass up an opportunity to eat cake!"

"Sounds familiar."

She giggled and took the box from the fridge. Dave smirked, "what, you didn't cook?"

Rory gave him a withering glance, "ha - ha, mister comedian, didn't you see me on Master Chef last week?"

He smiled at her then sat down and watched her take two plates and two forks from her drawers and place them on the counter along with the cake.

After cutting a huge slice for her self, and passing the cake to him, she said, "so how come you knew I'd be hiding?"

"Intuition?" he said, with a hopeful edge in his voice.

She groaned and looked painfully at him, "oh god, how bad is _this one?"_

He winced, and looked apologetic, "well, he's not as bad as Nigel, but he is worse than Timothy."

Her eyes bulged in shock, "Nigel had a gastric problem and Timothy stared at my boobs the entire night! This new guy is worse than Timothy?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "I think he's more of a butt person."

"Oh god," she moaned, "and you left Lane alone with him - poor Lane!"

He raised an eyebrow, "I was thinking more along the lines of 'poor _me'… If you catch my drift."_

She dropped her fork, "No way!"

"Yes way, indeed!"

"Oh my god!"

"Rory, why do you think _I_ came to get you?"

She started to laugh, "My date cracked on to you?"

He nodded slowly and chewed on his bottom lip, "maybe he was trying to be polite…"

She bobbed her head somberly, "yeah…"

They both stared at each other, both trying to hide smiles, before bursting into peals of laughter.

"He wanted your sexy ass!"

"Hey, who wouldn't?"

Take a step back. 

We see two twenty-eight year olds sitting at a kitchenette counter on their way to a dinner party, stuffing their faces with chocolate cake and laughing about the dinner guests. Normal behavior? Of course. We take a look at the couple we see, this girl – dressed to perfection as always – her brown hair slicked back off her face into a tight ponytail, contrasts with the young man at her side. He is handsome, no doubt about it, with his shaggy brown hair and deep chocolate eyes, his obvious reluctance in dressing up shows through his creased black shirt and baggy black pants. We've learned he is friendly, funny and willing to take flack – all the more reason to look at his left hand and notice that, sure enough, he wears a gold band on his wedding finger. But then again, so does she. We have learned that at work she is a wanted woman, but in her own home she lacks the courage to be wanted. Maybe this dinner party will bring about a turning point in her life. Maybe she _will _meet the man she dreams of. Maybe. Always a Maybe. On their way to a dinner party, stuffing their faces with chocolate cake and laughing about the dinner guests. Normal behavior? Of course.


	3. Chapter Three

_a/n: well, back again – I know I seem to be updating so fast your heads must be all blurry! I'm on my break from work at the moment so I'm taking this opportunity to cram in as many writing sessions as I can before I have to knuckle down for my exams! So far so good – or so it seems – with the story. You guys seem to be liking it. Last chapter was, granted, not as liked as the first but I held some readers attention so I'm stoked :D I'm gonna be posting pretty on and off up until Sunday when I'll start working on my major projects for the year and I'll be writing as much as I can in my free time. I'm really enjoying writing this for you all and to the ONE PERSON who guessed the ship – go Angeleyez! – I am very impressed, well done :D however, just because one person knows there is still no need to go around telling you all. I want to know who can pick where the story is headed. Anyhow – I'll stop rambling now and get on with the story. Hope you like it, and remember "If you don't review, you're such a poo!"_

**Chapter Three**

_Well? What have you got to say for yourself, missy?_

Rory rubbed her stomach.

_There is no way in hell you're going to make it through the entrée let alone the entire meal._

She looked down and tried to brush the stray crumbs from her shirt.

_ Okay – to make matters worse you are now not only a pig, Rory Gilmore, but you're dirty._

She glanced at Dave, in the driving seat, who was dabbing a dark patch off his shirt.

_Well at least I'm not the only dirty one around here._

_Heh, dirty._

She thudded her hand to her forehead.

_I have GOT to stop thinking like my mother._

"You alright there?" Dave smirked at her.

Rory smiled weakly, "Nah, I got hit by a thought."

He looked at her warily, "Must've been a Mack truck."

"More like a stretch limousine…"

"Oooh, a dirty thought!" He grinned, "Looking forward to meeting Troy, are we?"

Rory groaned.

Take a step back.

Trapped inside an old, rusty, red Mini Cooper, two adults are anxiously anticipating the dinner ahead. Both for different reasons. While he cannot read her mind, and likewise, she cannot read his – we can read them both. The signs on them are different. Rory, in her pristine outfit, is constantly smoothing her pants, readjusting her bra, checking her hair and makeup in the side mirror and fidgeting in her seat. Dave, with his crumpled – now stained- shirt and baggy pants, is constantly evening out his breathing, wiping his palms on his legs, brushing the hair out of his eyes and shifting his glance to the clock. They are both worried about the same person. The mystery man inside the Rygalski household, alone with Dave's wife and Rory's best friend – but, like I said, for different reasons. Where Rory is aware that tonight could be the night she meets the man of her dreams in Troy, Dave is becoming more and more conscious that he left his wife alone with a good-looking stranger. Where Rory is worried she is too dressed up for a simple dinner date, Dave is concerned that he is not up to scratch compared to this new man. "Could I find love?" "Will I lose love?" Two similar questions from, admittedly, two similar people. But only time will tell how the night will unravel.

"Lane, we're here," Dave called as he pushed open his front door, dragging Rory in by her arm, "I found this scrawny little thing stashed under her bed wielding a baseball bat – it's a wonder she still has friends with that attitude!" 

Rory smacked his arm before moving swiftly into the lounge room, "Don't believe a word he says, Lane. This husband of yours is clearly delusional – I was sitting on my sofa waiting for him to pick me up. And anything he mentions to do with chocolate cake is purely ficti-," she tailed off as she saw the two on the couch, "Oh…"

Lane and someone who must be Troy were in deep conversation, or so it seemed, involving the benefits of couture design.

Dave raised his eyebrows at Rory and shrugged while she smothered a giggle. He moved in front of the fashion squad and coughed loudly, causing them to acknowledge his appearance. 

Lane jumped up from the couch and hugged him, "Hello and hello! We haven't started the veggies yet, sorry." She turned to Rory, "Ah my girl! You made it out of your building – Congratulations!" 

"Ha de ha hah," she snarled, rolling her eyes, "you know, you and Dave should take that show on the road!"

"Well, we couldn't fit the name 'RYGALSKI' on the side of the bandwagon so we gave up on that idea a looooong time ago," Lane smirked at her, clinging to her husbands arm.

Dave turned to his wife, "You could have kept 'Kim' it would have been so much easier for letterheads!"

"Please," she rolled her eyes, "Mama would never have stood for it. It's bad enough I keep it for work, I may as well take your name for proper stuff or she'd never speak to me again!"

"She won't talk to _me_ ever!" Dave said, exasperated.

"But Honey," she said, sweetly, "that's because she knows for sure that you are the one that has stolen my virtue – you are going to burn in her fiery hell for the rest of eternity!"

"Oh, joy."

A small cough came from the couch. It was only then that Rory took Troy in completely. He was quite handsome, in a clean cut way – in fact looking almost as if he were too good to be true. He had none of the normal inflections one sees; scars, wrinkles, dimples…his face was perfectly symmetrical. A little off-putting. But then he smiled and warmth filled his face – his blue eyes sparkled and his glaringly white teeth beamed at them.

Lane smiled, "Troy," she gestured for him to stand, "this is Rory."

He walked over and shook her hand, beaming at her.

"Hello, Rory," he said.

For such a tall man, he had a soft voice. In many ways he reminded her of Dean. Not just the height or the floppy, Hugh-Grant-esque hair – but from the way he grasped her hand. His stylish dinner suit and defiant stance, reminded her of her Debutant ball…

"Troy, do you know Neil Young?" she blurted – receiving a very confused glance from each person in the room.

"Uh…I believe I met him at a party once," he tailed off.

Rory blushed. An awkward silence followed. Rory could have sworn she heard Dave mutter "Ah, l'amore" under his breath before saying loudly, "C'mon Rory – how about we see to that asparagus, hmm?" 

He steered her from the room leaving Lane and Troy to resume their fashion discussion.

He shut the kitchen door behind them and continued to laugh as he took out the vegetables and knives. 

She narrowed her eyes at him while she adjusted the chopping boards on the counter, "And what, pray tell, is so amusing?"

He gave in to a fit of giggles, leaning against the fridge gasping for air, "Real smooth, Rory! You never head that first impressions count?"

She took the knife in hand and began shredding the carrots, "As a matter of fact, I have, what is your point?"

He mustered his strength and pulled an extremely sober face. "Rory," he said and reached for her hand, pulling her near and muttered seductively, "do you know Neil Young?" Before cracking into laughter once more.

"It's a valid question!" she cried, returning to her vegetables.

"Rory, you didn't even greet him – you launched straight into the Neil thing…"

"He reminded me of someone!" 

He turned and watched her carefully, "Who, Neil Young?"

"Indirectly…" she said quietly, refusing to take her eyes off of the carrot in front of her.

He shook his head an began to pour water into a pan, "You sure are something Rory Gilmore."

"It's Lorelai DuGrey to you, Buddy," she growled, scowling.

"Oh-ho-ho!" he laughed, "Aren't we Miss little hoity – toity – I – make – an – ass – of – myself – in – front – of – strangers - lady!"

"I am NOT" she said looking up, still chopping, "Besides, if he's as nice as Lane says he is – he won't care!" 

He stopped what he was doing, "Lane's talked about him to you?"

"Of course," she nodded, "I asked for the full file on him and she told me…why?"

He turned back to the pan, pouring in some rice, "No reason. Just curious."

"Good, good."

"So," he cleared his through, "what'd she say?"

Rory smiled, "Don't be worried – sounds like she's found a new friend is all. Hey, every girl needs a gay best friend – even if it is a cliché!"

He laughed, "Hey, I'm almost 56% sure he's gay – I never said anything concrete!"

"Well, they were talking about fashion when we came in…but what am I talking about – he's my date!" 

He smiled uneasily, "Do _you_ have a gay best friend?"

"Well," she giggled, "unless Paris has been hiding something from Jess and myself I don't," she broke off and sucked her thumb, "DANG IT!"

Dave quickly moved to her, "What, what is it? Rory, show me your thumb," she shook her head. 

He clucked his tongue at her, "Did you cut your thumb, you Doofus?" 

She narrowed her eyes at him again. 

He smirked and took her hand in his, leading her to the sink, "Boy – o – boy, I'm going to have to get you a butter knife to use in future. Or better yet, you can just stir things from now on!" He ran the tap and put her thumb under it.

She winced and whimpered. He glanced at her, smiling softly, "You know for such a high-strung power lady, you sure are a big baby –it's just a nick!" He showed her the tiny scratch on her thumb and she pouted at it, tears threatening to destroy her composure. Crouching down, he took a band-aid out of the drawer and wrapped it around her thumb, "There, all better?"

She looked at the colourful band securing her cut and nodded, grinning like a child, "It's got guitars on it!" 

He smiled again and pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms around him and lifting her off the ground, laughing at her squeals of protest.

He took her hand, kissed her thumb and pressed it in between his palms. 

"I think you'll live," he said softly and then pointed at the door, grinning, "Now get out of my kitchen!"

Take a step back.

The aroma that fills Lane and Dave's dining room is divine – spices flow in through the kitchen and the satisfied expressions on the faces inside show well enough that the quality of the food was superb. The spirits are high, both spiritually and alcoholically. Finishing off the last bottle of red wine, the four adults are seated around the dinner table, idly chatting about current affairs, reminiscing on old events and generally creating an amiable atmosphere. Rory, surprising both herself and others, is extremely relaxed and is flowing with the witty conversation that is reminiscent of another Gilmore we know and love. She gets to know Troy in an offhand way and decides that – while he'd make a lovely friend – he wasn't the guy for her. Although feeling guilty at deciding this so soon, she is almost positive that neither Jess nor her mother will reprimand her this time – and the idea soothes her. Not having to worry about making an impression she eases herself into a fun evening – the first she's had in a long time. All four at the table are chatting now. The plates are empty. The faces are grinning. Two hands rest on Lanes knees. The one on her left resides there territorially. The other, unseen thanks to the thick pine dining table, fondles her knee softly. Although similar in size and shape, the hands have one small difference between them. The left one belongs to her husband. Lane continues to smile impishly as Rory narrates her latest visit to her mothers. Has anyone noticed? Can anyone see? The adrenalin is high. The stakes are even higher.


	4. Chapter Four

_A/N: well, here I am again, amigos! Ready and willing to sacrifice my sweet time to the cause of this UC. So, a couple of people have noticed the sparks already and I am very excited to see a positive reaction to it! If anybody had reviewed including an 'ew' then I would be distressed – however the only ew's I got were for Jess/Paris. But hey, every cat has their day and …today aint mine. This chapter isn't my favourite, it moves quickly I admit, but it is necessary to get everything going. So sit back and relax, cos this is just a short a/n to thank you for all your reviews and I hope you'll all be writing more because y'all know how much I adore my feedback! So,  happy reading – and remember, "if you don't review, you smell like a ewe"_

**Chapter Four**

_Okay, I now resolve NEVER to EVER drink EVER again._

_Here and now I state to the world: alcohol is evil._

Rory rolled over in bed and brushed her matted hair out of her eyes.

_Wait. Alcohol is worse than evil._

_Alcohol is like.. the symbol of all things satanic. _

_Alcohol is like…_

_Alcohol Is like the Olsen twins._

She heaved herself up, using her elbows to prop up her body and swung her legs over the side of the bed, ready to stand. The sudden movement made the room swirl underneath her and she collapsed back onto the bed, flopping onto her white sheets with a soft thud.

_Oh good god. Somebody must have mugged me with a pick-axe when I was sleeping…_

_Cos__' there is no way in hell somebody can have this big of a headache._

She groaned and slithered off the bed.

_Man, how much did I drink last night?_

_I hope I didn't make a fool of myself._

_Note to self: see Lane when resurrected._

She shook her head lightly to rid herself of stars and proceeded to crawl to the shower.

Take a step back.

Most people as they grow older develop a higher tolerance to alcohol, so surely girls like the one we see before us now should be right as rain at this exact moment in time. However, this particular girl is different. Not only did this particular girl grow through her teenage and college years rejecting the kegs and the cocktails for her daily latte – therefore making her what is commonly known throughout society as a 'lightweight', but this little girl consumed a ghastly amount of alcohol the previous night. While she wonders in the shower as to whether she maintained her dignity, we can understand what actually happened. Because we were there. Much to the amusement of the designated driver, Rory Gilmore as we know her, had come undone. The red wine gave her the healthy glow we saw her with last. The after dinner cocktails brightened her eyes and loosened her tongue. Judging from our observations, the vodka shooters are what killed her. As we saw her then, we see her now. Standing under the shower, letting the water cascade over her body, she smiled slightly as she remembers a moment. She strokes her upper arms as she vaguely remembers being carried in someone's arms. The water falling on her suddenly was scalding hot – the old man upstairs having turned on his washing machine. As she struggles to find the perfect temperature, the memory she had was slipping away. She forgets how he puller her closer to him so as to not knock her head against the door frame. She forgets how at that same moment she nestled into him, inhaling his scent. She forgets the warmth she felt inside as she was held close to him. She forgets how the icy air around her became all the more prominent when he put her down and stood to leave the room. She forgets the sarcastic laugh and a smart comment about painkillers for the morning. She forgets her eyes locking with his before he pressed his lips to her forehead and bade her goodnight. She forgets how the same old feeling of emptiness returned to her as he left the room. So, when she goes back to her bed and finds a packet of aspirin on her table, she merely gulps one down – wondering how on earth they got there…

She was sitting in a diner, sighing into a bowl of coffee, when her mobile rang. 

Pushing the little green button, she grunted and waited for an answer.

"So," a voice drawled in her ear, "You send me an email from your work office saying that you're being dragged into another blind date at Lanes. You then apparently _went_ to this godforsaken blind date, because when I called at nine you weren't at home hiding for a change. Then, when I called this morning expecting you to be sprawled on your sofa watching cartoons and cramming your face with Cheerio's – ready to whinge to me about your night, you weren't there. So you either met the love of your life and I'm embarrassing you by saying this monologue to you while you are scantily clad – or not clad at all – in a man's bed…or you got totally wasted and are attempting to drown yourself in your coffee mug."

Rory grunted again, this time with more gusto.

"oh you are shameless, Gilmore," he stated. 

He began detailing his opinions to his wife - she could practically hear him smirking as he came back on the line.

"I take it the party was fun?" he said, half laughing into the receiver.

She grimaced, his voice beginning to grate her mind, "It was hardly a party, Jess. It was just me, Lane, Dave and Troy."

"And a thousand bottles of spirits, no doubt."

"Don't," she groaned, "I don't ever want to think about alcohol again, ever."

He laughed, "Poor little Rory, you never did have it in you to drink and survive the next morning. Is anybody there with you now?" 

"Do you really think I would want people seeing me like this?" She asked, incredulously, "I look like an extra from planet of the apes!"

"The TV show or the Marky Mark Movie?"

She thought for a moment, staring at her reflection in the window, "A combination."

"God, you must look like shit!"

She nodded, still staring out the window in a trance. A passer by caught her eye and pulled a face. Rory rolled her eyes and thudded her head against the glass pane.

"Why is it I always end up whacking my head against something when I'm on the phone to you, Mariano?"

"Because I'm so suave I drive you crazy?" 

She grinned sardonically, "You drive me crazy, period."

"So are you going to tell me about last night, or what?"

The morning's minutes crawled by like injured insects. Rory had finished her coffee and had a less opaque view of the world, affirming once more that she would ne'er again know the touch of liquor to her lips. She checked her watch and decided to drift over to the Rygalski residence to thank Lane for the hospitality she abused the night before – also hoping that Lane'd quash any suspicions Rory had about her behaviour under the influence. She meandered down their avenue, marvelling at how the tree's always resembled withered hands at this time of year. Treading on the soggy leaves on the ground, she pulled her turtle-neck up higher over her chin and wrapped her arms around herself – humming softly to herself to a melody she couldn't place. Reaching the Rygalski stoop, she smiled and walked up to the door. She was about to ring the bell when she heard a shout from the inside.

"Oh for God's sake, now you're just being paranoid!"

"Am I? Jesus, Lane, You've been acting strange for months now, how am I supposed to be?"

"Anything but this! Why are you acting like this?"

"Acting like _what? _How am I supposed to understand if you don't tell me!"

"You're behaving like a child who won't share his tonka truck!"

"'Won't share his _tonka__ truck!' Lane, You are my wife, not some toy!"_

"You Could've fooled me!"

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just a doll to you!"

"Lane, we're not in an Ibsen play – what the hell?"

"I'm just you're little wife! I'm this little person you can present to people at parties!"

"That is not true!"

"Yes it IS!"

"For one thing – I never go to parties unless _you make me. And secondly, You're my wife. You're my friend. I love you."_

"Yes, I love you too - but you don't _love_ me."

"I don't understand!"

"You don't _want_ me!"

"Of course I want you!"

"Not in the way you should!"

"I –"

"We never have sex!"

"…A relationship isn't all about sex, Lane."

"Yeah, but if you're in a _boring_ relationship like _ours_ it's bound to HELP!"

The silence lasted for a long time, until Dave's voice was heard – softly, just above a whisper, "Okay."

She heard him take a deep breath, "I don't know what is wrong with you right now. I don't even pretend to understand why you're so unhappy. So, I'm just going to go for a walk. I'll be back sometime later."

The sound of footsteps carried through the door before Lane cried out, "Dave, I didn't mean –"

"Yes, you did. You say what you mean, and that's great, ok? I just need some time to think about this, alright?"

"Sure…"

There was more silence.  Rory began to bob anxiously on the stoop, not knowing whether to hide or stay still. She ran down the small steps and crouched next to a trash can. 

Their dark red front door clicked open and she saw Dave take two secure steps out of the house, turn slowly and shut the door calmly. He took another two steps forward and stopped again, taking a deep, steadying breath.

She watched him over the rim of the bin, taking in his ruffled hair (his hands had obviously been running through the strands in frustration), his red-rimmed eyes and his shaking hands. He brought his hands to his face and kneaded his eyes with the heels of his hands. He sighed and walked slowly down the stairs, picking up the wind-blown rubbish from the stairs and stopping at Rory's trash can to dispose of them. 

Figuring the game was up, Rory ventured a greeting, "Hi."

He sighed and nodded, not looking the least bit surprised to find her there, "Good Afternoon, Rory. I'm sorry you had to hear that." He turned and continued down the street, never once glancing at her.

She stood and brushed her legs down with her hands, "I didn't, I wasn't, I –"

"Good Afternoon, Rory. Go in and talk to Lane, okay?" he said monotone, striding down the avenue, keeping his dark eyes focused on the horizon.

She nodded mutely, proceeded up the stairs and knocked lightly on the door. 

Within mili-seconds the door swung open, with Lane mid-sentence, 

"- say things, Dave, I –" she stopped abruptly and frowned, her bottom lip shaking, "oh, Rory!" She leaned forward and pulled Rory into a hug, sighing into her shoulder.

Rory shushed her, rubbing her back and soothing her, "Its okay, Lane. It's alright. Everything is going to be fine," she tailed off, pushing Lane slowly back into the living room. She sat Lane down on the couch and kneeled in front of her, "What's going on, Lane? You guys are meant to be the perfect couple?" 

"Oh Rory," Lane spoke wearily, "We were. We really were," she tailed off.

Rory eyebrows knitted together in confusion, "Well, what happened?"

Take a step back.

'What happened?' A simple question generally obtains a simple answer. But in the game of love, nothing is simple – no matter how small or how grand the scale. Rory stumbled upon one of many domestic fights in the Rygalski household. She wasn't to know that the 'perfect couple' had been fighting nearly every day for the past few months 'What happened?' she asks. Who is to say how what once felt so right, now feels too tight around the collar. Who is to say what exactly happens in a relationship to turn it from loving comfort to a dull monotony. As night falls we see Lane and Dave standing together in their lounge room. We see the wild hand gestures and the tears for both of them. The pleading for chances, the wounded glances and the angry kisses that all culminated in one explosive act of passion. Now, whether Dave chose to make love to Lane that night because he wanted to prove a point, or because he genuinely desired her –we cannot know for sure. All we know is what we see. We see the two lying in their bed. One, with her dark hair splayed across her pillow, sleeps soundly and peacefully with a contented smile. The other, sitting next to her in bed, is staring at photos of the past and frowning slightly as he casts his eyes over the faded pictures. The moment is frozen for a long space in time. Dave's eyes glaze over as he continues a mental struggle. He hasn't expected his marriage to Lane to be like this. He wanted something different, something fresh and something exciting – they were kindred spirits…not star-crossed lovers. For Dave, when he fell – he fell hard. The traditional musician, he plays with his heart on his pick, ready to fling himself headfirst from passion to passion – and he thought he had felt that with Lane. He had felt a connection of some form, and went with it. Maybe he misjudged the feelings he had towards her. Maybe he moved too quickly.  Maybe he over-estimated their emotions. Maybe what he thought was love was merely a friendship that got carried too far. But if this wasn't the right love …what was? Where could he find it? …As we leave the scene now, Dave clasps his hands together and prays once more. He could save this marriage. He could. He knew it. But whether he _wanted it is a whole different ball game._


	5. Chapter Five

_A/n: Hey this chapter has been re-done, the former version was WAY cliché… like.. more cliché than this one – and that's SAYING something. NEW chapters will be done soon._

**Chapter Five**

_It's all just one big mess! _

_How can people live with themselves once they let this sort of thing happen? I don't understand people sometimes._

Rory frowned to herself and pouted.

_Can't people just get their act together? I mean really! Everything was going so well and just __**one**__ person comes along and knocks everything out of place… leading others to think they can do the same!_

_That, my friend, is what is wrong with this country. _

_Way too many people willing to give up on a good thing just because it is the easy way out._

She sighed.

_Damn it – I had this whole cupboard perfectly colour-coded organised and everything!_

Looking around the now chaotic stationary cupboard, Rory growled under her breath.

_I've never been a super-fan of disorganisation. _

_I know, I know – with a mother like mine I'm supposed to be immune to this sort of clutter, but really this is just getting out of hand!_

She picked up the pink post-its off the carpet.

_Pink is noticeable, right? With big bold letters saying what goes where surely any bozo can put things back where they belong?_

Blowing stay wisps of hair away from her face, she crouched and reached under the shelves – hoping to god that there were no rotting animal or insect corpses underneath. The door swung open and a petite blonde with bright purple eyes –

_Contacts_

-tottered in (the three inch stilettos obviously taking their toll on her balance). She twirled her hair in her fingers and nervously bit her bottom lip,

"Um, Ms. DuGrey?" she bleated, "It's half an hour after my shift ended – can I go home now?"

Rory grunted as she stood up.

_What is her name… Tracey? Stacey? Amber? Barbie? _

_Oops - keep your claws in, Gilmore!_

She gave a strained smile, "Yeah, sure," she paused, "Uh, Brittany – you can leave now, that's fine!"

The blonde in front of her narrowed her eyes slightly. "It's Whitney," she deadpanned.

Rory nodded, "I knew that!" She grimaced to herself as Whitney stalked out and slammed the door.

_Whitney, Brittany, Barbie – meh, they're all the same anyway!_

She pulled the tie from her hair, letting it cascade over her shoulders, and undid the top button of her shirt.

_Guess I better be heading off too, then._

Take a step back.

Rory wasn't always this blasé with her work. Back in the days of wedlock, Rory saw each day as a challenge. Each day was a new experience. Each day was a chance to make or develop relationships. So she seized each day. She knew every name of every co-worker. She worked vigorously and passionately into the small hours of the morning. She gazed in wonder around her office, marvelling at the glamour, the prestige and the glory of working in television. But as you grow old, the sparkle fades – that is, unless you live for the job – and Rory didn't anymore. Her childhood dreams of being a foreign correspondent were shattered after her first day under that title. On the set, not only were the backdrops fake, but the people were fake. She needed that authenticity that only she produced within her soul. She yearned for the chance to tell the world about its problems, but the censorship forbade it. The sparkle of her dream was jaded. The dream itself had faded. She was left with reality. A reality that was as dull and cold as the cement city surrounding her.

Tipping her head back gently, she focused on the instant pleasure. The warmth spread from her lips to the very depths of her.

The desire for more was instantly ignited.

Her eyes heavy with want, she gazed at the man in front of her.

"Oh, Bobbo," she moaned, "Give it to me."

"Meez Dugray," the hot-blooded Italian rasped,

"I teenk you had enough ezprezzo for a wedz-day."

Her loose hair brushed the biscotti as she leaned towards him over the counter, grasping his shirt in her tiny fists.

"But I _need_ it," she whined.

Pursing his lips, his thick mustache bristling against his nostrils, the old Italian surveyed his loyal customer.

He noticed the shiny leather purse hanging from her shoulder.

He noticed the designer jeans she's wearing.

He noticed the long, shiny, brown hair.

He noticed the pretty face stretched into a look of despair.

She doesn't look like your everyday addict.

"I'll even get it 'to go' so you won't have to watch me drink it," she cooed, pleading with him.

He sighed.

"Meez, one of deez days, you going to have heart attack," he harrumphed.

"Ah but I'll die happy," she said, dreamily lounging against the cake cabinet, "and really hyper."

He held her drink out to her, "I make you long latte, Take you longer to dreenk, I teenk."

"Slow-Mo Lo…relai, yup – that's me!" She chirped, swiped the coffee from his hands and zipped out the door. The old man inside shook his head as he watched her dart across the busy street.

She ignored the faceless thousands clogging the side-walk, 'all the better to focus on my lover…Mr. Latte!'

Rory zig-zagged through the streets, occasionally draining her thirteenth caffeine-fix of the day. Thirteenth? Lucky for some.

'Enough espresso? I commend the man on his alliteration but surely the whole concept is just wrong! And besides, I haven't had that many today. My eye isn't twitching, my pulse isn't racing, surely I've had under six shots of the goods. It would have to be under six because I only had instant with breakfast and that doesn't count…'

So lost in her ranting soliloquy, she didn't see the friendly, frazzled guitarist emerging from a doorway.

That is, until Lucky Number Thirteen found itself crushed between them, oozing its contents onto her $600 shirt.

"HOT! OH WOW, HOT!" She shrieked, as she pulled the soaked material away from her skin.

"Oh no, I am SO sorry. Totally unintentional 'Notting Hill' moment!" Dave spluttered, searching his battered satchel for something, anything, absorbent.

At the familiar voice, she tore her eyes from her ruined shirt, and glared at her friend.

"Trust you to not only ruin my shirt, but to compare me to Julia Roberts," she tutted, "I'm not sure which one is more unforgivable."

"You're right, you're right," he teased as he passed her a pack of tissues, "you're far more Meg Ryan."

"That would make you Tom Hanks."

"Please, I have far better hair."

Rory laughed lightly, dabbing at her shirt and looking forlornly at the crushed empty cup lying next to her purse on the concrete. Dave followed her eye-line and laughed.

"Ah, Never has there been a tale of more woe," he consoled, putting his arm around her. "C'mon, I'll take you back to our place, we can commiserate Larry-The-Latte's demise over some freshly brewed Freddy Filter. The car's just around the corner."

She sniveled and leaned into him as he steered her to the left. "Oh Larry, we hardly knew ye!"

The sound of Dave's laughter made her feel curiously warmer than Larry ever did… she shook off the feeling.

"Are you cold?" Dave asked, feeling her shudder. "What are you doing walking home on a night like this anyway? You could be mugged!"

She giggled at him, "Don't worry, _Dad_, I can take care of myself!" Demonstrably, she threw his arm off of her and marched towards the passenger door.

"Hey now, Miss Thing," Dave reproached, "You should be careful! The kids these days-"

"Kids _these_ days?" She cried, incredulously. "Dave, kids have been acting like this for years! I would bet my life that ten years ago Jess was probably attempting to mug snooty-looking women like me!"

"Yeah, well: a) that's just Jess for you,

b) That was in New York! Crime is at its peak there!

And c) You aren't snooty-looking!"

She giggled softly, "well: a) that's my best friend you're talking about, buster!

b) If there can be crime in Stars Hollow, there can be crime anywhere!

And c) Thank you very much!"

They grinned at each other for a moment until Dave's smile wavered and he suddenly became very interested in unlocking the car.

Once inside, he continued to fumble with his keys, then turned the tuner until he found some soft jazz music.

Rory raised her eyebrows, "I didn't know you were a jazz man."

He nodded emphatically, accidentally turning on the windscreen wipers for a moment– all the while avoiding her eyes.

"Hey," she said, touching his shoulder, "are you ok, Dave?"

"What?" he asked, whipping his head from the road, to her, to back again, "yeah, yeah, I'm fine – just dandy, y'know?"

She observed him fidget with the wheel in his fingers.

"Dave, you can talk to me about the other day…what I heard… if you want," she said softly.

He gave her a sideways glance as he churned the car into life. He shook his head and pulled out into the street.

Silence reigned for a moment.

"How are _you_ feeling? Are you feeling better about Larry Latte now? Should we hold a wake, d'you think?"

She rolled her eyes at his obvious subject change, "Maybe It'll help to talk about it?"

He snorted, "Typical female idea – in actual fact, talking brings up memories people would rather forget so in thinking it helps to talk about stuff you're actually doing yourself more harm than good."

She raised her eyebrows at his tone and looked out the window, "well, if it's such a bother to you, don't worry."

Stopping at a red light, Dave thudded his head against the steering wheel before muttering, "Lane and I have different ideals about things, I guess."

When Rory said nothing, Dave took his explanation a step further, "See, Lane," he paused, "Lane wants," he trailed off again.

"What does Lane want?" Rory asked.

"Lane wants something I can't give her," he sighed.

"What would that be?" Rory asked tentatively.

"I don't know" he resigned.

"Ok…"

"Yeah… You see, the more I think about this, the more it becomes confusing. I love Lane. She's great. We've been together since High School. Since the band. Since…" he stopped abruptly, glancing at Rory, and sighed. "I love her. I know I do, I love her."

"So what's happening with you two?"

"She's agreed for us to try again as a couple, which is good. We're hoping it'll all work itself out. I just don't know if she… I love her, but it's not the sort of Love that… I just don't think that I…I can't... I try and try and try to give her what she wants but she is always upset with me!"

He pulled the car up outside his house and ran his hand through his hair in frustration, "I thought I had everything with Lane. I don't know anymore, maybe I was wrong? Whatever, I mean, I don't know. I always had this idea about love, ever since I was little. Love is like a butterfly," he paused, looking at Rory, "and I don't mean that in a traditional Harlequin-Novel-style way. I mean, like, butterflies go through hell to get to where they are. The transformation from a caterpillar to a butterfly is not easy – but the hardest part is getting out of that cocoon. To get out of there they go through this huge struggle, beating their fragile wings frantically against this thick cover in order to be set free and fly. But… they have to go through that struggle – because if they didn't go through the pain of bashing their wings to free themselves, they'd die. They wouldn't have the strength in them to fly. So _Love_," he swallowed, "Love is similar. You need to have all the experiences that pain you, to be able to reach that height. That _Pure_ love. _A true_ love."

He looked at Rory warily, "I thought I had that with Lane. After all we had to go through to be together… I thought it had to be. But I don't love her like I used to."

Rory's mind was buzzing, "I never knew that."

He smiled sadly, "About butterflies?"

"No. About how passionately you feel about Love."

"Well," he sighed for what seemed the thousandth time that night, "Love is a haunting melody that I have never mastered… And I fear I never will." He looked at her with big eyes, "Sorry, this is probably totally depressing for you – Me warbling on about love and my failing marriage when you're the one who has had this huge traumatic divorce and everything."

"No, don't be sorry," she put her hand on his arm, he glanced at her quickly, "It's good for you to let it out to somebody. I know it's hard, I've been through it. But I do believe that anything less than mad, passionate love is wasting your time. Life has too many mediocre things in it, love shouldn't be one of them...There is one true love out there for everybody – maybe we're both yet to find it. "

He gazed at her for a moment. "Maybe," he whispered. Their eyes locked and neither moved.

A giggle echoed down the street as Dave's front door opened and Lane backed out.

Both Rory and Dave jumped slightly and turned to see, Dave opening his door slightly – ready to jump out.

But he froze and shut the door slowly as he saw Troy follow Lane out of the house.

He froze and sat back in his chair, sighing as he saw Lane kissing Troy lustily before retreating back into the house.

Take a step back.

It is an interesting thing when a heart breaks. Like any other organ in the body there is a possibility of healing. But, again like any other organ in the body, it takes time. Rory – who suffered a great deal of heartbreak from her ex-husband – understands this fact. She knows that when your heart breaks, when you are touched by pain, when love fails, your whole world collapses. She's felt the woes of unrequited love. She's touched the deep black hole you can fall into when your love life falls apart. This is why, when she looks on Dave in this moment, she is confused. She can't see the pain in his eyes. She doesn't hear any cries of anguish. She's missing any sense loss in his movement – for he doesn't move at all. She doesn't understand. He sits calmly, his head cocked to one side, staring at the empty space where his wife and another man were just seen kissing. He doesn't say anything – because there is nothing to say. He just sits with his hand clasping Rory's, his eyes cold and his breathing heavy, but his movement still. Rory gazes at him in confusion – unable to grasp how Dave can sit still and not fight for Lane. Unable to comprehend how a man who just recently spoke of love with such an undertone of desperation, can sit back and let his love slip through his fingers. But again, she doesn't understand. She doesn't appreciate how you can't lose something you never had. What most do not understand is that in love, nobody wins, nobody loses, and nobody is punished; we all just suffer the consequences.


	6. Chapter Six

_A/N: I know. I know. I know. I'm sorry! I really am! I had my hsc (a levels or finals or whatever) then I had my uni applications and my summer holiday…. But I'm back on the ball now and I'm SO SORRY to keep y'all waiting. I hope you like this chapter. It's sort of an in between chapter so there isn't much humour or talking. But, yeah…please review? I'll write more soon. Love , emjai._

**Chapter Six:**

_23 cds._

Rory scanned the floor of the car once more.

23 cds: 15 of which are in their cases. For a car without a cd player that is quite an achievement.

_Of the 15 cased cds there are 3 different genres._

_Pop, Punk and Jazz._

_It's funny how it's like a slice of life. _

_You've got the 'pop' – the lemmings out there who'll pay you a $1 000 for a kiss and 50c for your soul, who'll try anything to please, and who'll lead you into a life you feel is real. _

_Then there's 'punk' – for those who feel the need to rebel, who feel that if you play music at a higher volume more people will take notice of you, who feel that if they scream for everyone to go away…more people might notice them._

_ Then, finally, 'jazz' – the everlasting sound that managed to creep into every decade, easygoing, melancholy, relaxing, and soothing…for that kind of person who just floats through life…_

Rory stared out of the window at the dense purple clouds that hang in the sky.

_I really haven't floated anywhere in a while._

_You have to have no weight to float._

Flicking her gaze to the man sitting next to her, she frowned.

_Does feeling no weight count?_

Take a step back.

The moments after a shock revelation can vary. You can be trapped in a force field of screams, wails, and explosive emotional energy – a sight to behold and an excruciating experience. Only one other reaction can cause as much tension – silence. When Rory and Dave saw Lane's act of adultery moments before, there was silence. Dave breathed life back into the engine and they quietly reversed down the street before turning and driving away. The lovers did not notice. Since that minute there has been nothing but silence. Numb silence. The pain of what had taken place still shooting through the small space of the car. Like electric waves they were shocked and stung by them – each thought of the moment causing a new scar. And there was no aid. Silence can be soothing, relaxing even. It can lull the senses into a catatonic trance that leaves them at peace with one and all. But this was no silence Rory had experience before. The sounds of the world passed by them, accentuating the grating tension that creeped within the car. Dave's cold eyes never strayed from the road, as Rory's mind ran a mile a minute to distract herself from acknowledging the blatant fact that was…Dave's love was no longer. A love had been lost. If loss entailed what had occurred. Stripped, stolen…Seduced, succumbed. Either way, life was different because of that fact. One detail had changed his being. But his further reactions to this detail were yet to be seen.

The silence dragged on as they sped down the streets. Rory began to fidget with her bag – the uncomfortable atmosphere burdening her as she took in Dave. He was ashen faced, his hands gripping the steering wheel with such force that Rory began to worry he would indent the plastic. His knuckles glowed white and his jaw was set in a grimace that caused his handsome dimples to falter.

"Dave?" she tentatively questioned, attempting to bring him out of his stupor.

A spark glinted behind his eyes as he glanced at her,

"Rory, I _really_ do _not_ want to talk about this one, ok?" he gritted out from between his teeth.

Put out, Rory turned to the window once more, before changing her mind and facing him again,

"But, I've had this happen to me, remember? I could help? I've been there! I've done that! I walked in on Tristan with some little ditz called Bambi, Shambi, Stacey, Bacey, or whatever! I can help you through this, Dave, I –" she trailed off at his face. 

His stony countenance continued until he pulled up outside her apartment building.

He turned in his seat so he was facing her.

She waited.

Nothing came. He just stared at her.

"If you don't –" she trailed off again, feeling awkward under his gaze. She wished for a parallel universe…

He shut his eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath,

"Rory, can we go upstairs and talk?"

Surprised, she smiled and nodded, "of course. Let me just get my key."

They headed out of the car and up the stairs.

Letting them both into the apartment, Rory took off her black coat and threw it on one of the stylish ottomans scattered across the living room.

"Take off your coat, dump it where you will – no need to stand on stage!" She grinned at him.

"Stand on stage?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

Flicking on the percolator she smirked at him, "I was going to say 'stand on ceremony' but I figure you've probably never been anywhere where the word 'ceremony' was applicable."

He dropped his jaw in mock horror and put his hand to his chest, "I'll have you know, _Mz _DuGrey, that just because I am a musician does not mean that I have never been to a ceremony of sorts. In fact, I've been to _two_!" He cooed as he crashed down into one of the couches.

She laughed and sank down into the plush cushions next to him, "Oh _really_? I am so sorry then, _Monsieur! _Do tell me what these elite ceremonies were?"

"Why they were only to honour me with the greatest awards known to man," he sat up and coughed in preparation, ""Most likely to swallow a crayon" and "Most likely to eat the worlds largest cheesecake!"

Rory applauded, "I'm impressed."

"As well you should be, I worked hard for those!"

She admonished him with a pointed finger, "Dave, did you swallow that crayon?"

His eyes shifted guiltily from left to right, "No, Miss Hoover!"

The broke out into giggles only to be interrupted by Dave's cell phone.

He looked at the caller ID and frowned. 

Taking a stirring breath, he picked up, "Hey Lane!"

His voice was without a trace of infliction, perfectly calm and happy – just like normal. Rory looked on with baited breath.

"Yeah, I'm great – how was your day, babe…Oh well, busy is good, right…Yeah… Will you be home later? Sure, I can make that for you…. With the Soy or Rice milk…Ok…. Yeah…Ok, babe. See you later. Love you… Uh-huh. Bye."

Throwing the phone onto the floor he held his head in his hands and sighed, "She's been 'manic at work today' with so many 'patients' who are 'just desperate for her attention!'" He leaned back into the couch again, "She won't be home until late tonight but she wants me to make her favorite dinner for her so she can eat it when she gets in." 

Rory frowned, "maybe she actually had to go –" she was cut off by Dave.

"I'm not stupid, god damn it. I'm just a schmuck, Rory. I'm a fool," His voice grew louder, "My life is foolish. I am just here to be used and abused by Lane – to be her little servant while she goes off and fornicates behind my back! That's not a relationship! That's not even a friendship! There is no love! There's nothing! She's right – I _don't _want her anymore and I can't stand it! "

Silenced by his anger, Rory stared at him. 

Not knowing what else to do, she took his hand and stroked it with her thumb.

He breathed deeply, looked at her fingers entwined with his, and stared at her. 

"Rory," he whispered, shaking his head sadly, "I'm so sorry."

Puzzled, she began to speak but stopped when Dave brought his finger to her lips to stop her words. Holding her eyes in a meaningful stare he traced his finger across her lips, his callused fingertips scraping enticingly across her soft skin. Moving his finger across further, he cupped her cheek as he leaned in further and gently pressed her lips to his. 

Rory let out a squeak of protest, but Dave would not be refused, he slid his palm up until his fingers were lost in her silky chestnut locks, gently massaging her scalp. His other hand began sliding up and down her bare forearm, causing her skin to quiver. 

Before long, Rory's protestations turned to moans and she pulled him closer to deepen the kiss. She felt his skilful tongue dart on her bottom lip, begging entrance to her mouth. Sighing, she granted it, letting him explore her mouth with his tongue whilst she enthusiastically reciprocated. Linking her wrists behind his neck she drew him closer as she lay back on the couch, pulling him on top of her. His hands moved downwards and up underneath her shirt, slowly skimming her breasts, his fingertips lightly gracing her skin and setting a fire within her soul. Breaking apart for air, Rory closed her eyes and gasped as Dave began slowly suckling at the skin on her neck. Without thinking, she found herself dragging him back to her lips where she kissed him passionately, pressing closer into him. Fumbling, she untucked his black shirt and her hands glided over his smooth, taut muscles. Breaking apart again, Dave stripped himself of his shirt and began working on Rory's buttons. Alarm bells resounded once more in Rory's head. It had been too long. It had been too long since she knew this sort of touch. Too long since she had felt this sort of closeness. And she knew it was wrong…

"Dave, wait!" She gasped, propping herself up on one elbow and pushing Dave away with one hand, "I can't!" She gestured to them both, "We can't! You're _married!_ Lane's my best friend! Lane –"

He crushed his lips to hers, forcing her lips apart and sweeping his tongue across her teeth. Darting across to her ear, he began kissing, lapping, nipping and sucking at her lobe, panting out the words,

"Rory… I want…you."

With all the energy she could muster, Rory pushed him off her and stood up. She looked at him and shook her head sadly, much like he had done earlier, before grasping his hand in hers and leading him slowly into her bedroom.

 Take a step back.

We find ourselves in a predicament. Sex for the first time in most situations can be awkward, intimidating, disastrous, and the repercussions can be destructive. However, in this case, this is not true. There was no awkwardness between these two. Far from it. There was a familiarity between them that neither recognised. The fact that Dave knew Rory's body as if it were his own, knew how to give her what she wanted, neither of them questioned. The fact that they fit together perfectly went unnoticed as each marvelled in the sensations excited by the other. The noises that filled the room weren't that of their usual conversation, gone was the witty banter and laughing comments, gone was speech in general. All that remained was the sounds of ecstasy. Intimidation was no matter – they were both on the same wavelength. They had both been battered and bruised by love, and had both been suffering from something missing in their lives. Perhaps that something missing had been in front of them all along? Possible. Perhaps that something this historic was all it took to take their minds off their former problems? Probable. Was it disastrous? As they came together and collapsed into each other's arms, the only feeling that was monitored was that of contentment. Only the repercussions had yet to be accounted for. A broken hearted woman, a broken hearted man… Could the melding of both create a whole heart? Or just break them again twice over? Will the loves they found previously prevail? Or could it be possible that the connection they found tonight would be one that would hold them together for longer? The night will end. The morning will come. The questions will be asked. The questions _must_ be answered.


	7. Chapter Seven

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A/N: Thanks heaps guys for your reviews - keep 'em coming, they really boost me into writing more! I am seriously loving these characters, even though things have taken on a more serious tone… Not to worry, the humour will rise - I can barely hold it in as it is. But, as this is a massive change for me (you've seen my previous works, no? all humour and inner monologue? Things change…) I am pretty excited and hope I can keep it up - hope to hear from you all soon. And I hope you like this chapter. Any questions, comments, or requests - please feel free to post them in your review or email me on the shown address. Love, emjai! 

Chapter Seven:

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Do you ever get those moments where you're totally at peace with the world?

Where you sit still, let the air brush against your skin, and just feel completely content with your life and the way you lived it?

When all you can do is bite the corners of your lips to stop yourself grinning at the sheer blissfulness of a moment?

Rory sighed.

__

Heaven will seem boring after this.

Opening her eyes, she gazes out over the balcony at the midnight blue waves that are lapping gently at the sand. She shifts unconsciously in her seat, disturbing the heavy warmth that lies against her. She feels soft hair tickle her bare shoulder as the sounds of stretching fill the air. 

__

True happiness can be achieved. This being has lit up my life. This being has a part of my soul.

"Mommy, when is dinner?"

__

And a part of my DNA.

"Shouldn't be too long now, Jake," she says softly before raising her voice, "_Daddy_ should have had it ready _fifteen minutes ago,_ but _nooooooooooooooo! Daddy _had to watch the MTV special on HIMSELF!" 

A laugh reverberates across the balcony of her beach house before a tall, grinning, shaggy-haired man walks out from the patio with a steaming tray in his hands.

__

He never was able to tame his hair…

Placing the food on the table he moves over to Rory, scooping up his boy, "Well, if _Mommy_ hadn't forced _Daddy _to read every…" 

He pecked a kiss on the 4 year-olds chocolate mane, "single…" 

He pecked again, "article…" 

Once more, "about her winning the most prestigious writing prize _in the WORLD_ -_Daddy_ would have been able to start dinner earlier! Then my little boy wouldn't be starving and my _darling_ girl wouldn't be blaming ME!" 

He tickled their son to emphasise his point before swooping his partner into a rampaging tickle-fight. Their raucous sounds of laughter and excited squeals cast themselves across the sea to a lonely fisherman who smiled fondly at a memory of what once was.

Take a step back. 

This isn't the future. This isn't the past. This is the present… of sorts. We see two lovers curled into each other in Rory's bed. Both are asleep. This is where this moment has its origin. The brain cells of Rory Gilmore have concocted an image. An image, -not of what _will_ be, but an image of what _could_ be. Fortunately for us we can see this image and form our own opinions. But when Rory Gilmore opens her eyes to the reality of the world before her, this dreamland will be gone. Their life together will be questionable. Their happiness may never be. Their beautiful child may never come to live. Only the consequences of the night before will be considered during the moments when Rory opens her eyes and realises that the arms wrapped so tightly around her waist are not those of her ex-husband. The hairs on those arms are brown, not blonde. Turning over, she will see that the body next to her is not sculpted rock, but toned flesh. Running her hands through his hair, she will note that it is soft and curled, not fuelled by products. And when his eyes open to meet hers, a dashing icy cobalt blue will not be seen, but liquid pools of hazelnut will warm her from the pit of her stomach. Their lips will meet again, in the thought that one last time would be the end. That one last time would be enough. Would satisfy. Would quench the thirst they both feel. Little do they know it would merely further fuel the passion ignited the night before.

Rory let out a deep breath as she repositioned herself. Once more surprised to feel soft skin as her pillow she jerked out of her daze and propped herself up with one hand. The sudden rush of cold air to Dave's skin made him groan softly and reach for her. 

With wide eyes, she swatted away his hand as it started to draw lazy circles on her back, gently pushing her back towards him.

"Dave," she whined softly, "We can't. I can't. You have to go – It's morning and…" she trailed off.

Frowning, but not opening his eyes, he mumbled huskily, "Lane'll be expecting me? Is that what you were going to say?"

Slightly distracted by his enticing fingers she breathed a quiet, "yes."

He opened his eyes slowly to see her frowning slightly but biting at her smiling bottom lip – her face showing her ambiguous feelings at that moment. Raising his hand to the base of her neck, he sat up and kissed her. 

Breaking apart after a moment he muttered breathlessly, "I don't care." 

Capturing her mouth in his once more, he eased them back down onto the bed again. His free hand skimmed across her belly and down until he was tracing tiny patterns on her inner thigh. Rory gasped with pleasure, all the while caressing his chest with her lips.

A small vibration passed across the bed.

Both froze.

Both looked at each other.

"Was that?"

"Did you?"

They felt it again, this time an all too familiar bleat rang across the room.

Rory scrambled across the bed to the small table where her home phone attempted sabotage on her social life. Guessing all telephonic objects had her pain as their main target, she glared at the offensive phone before reaching to pick it up. Grabbing her hand, Dave pouted, 

"Rory, just leave it!"

She shook her head desperately, "It could be an emergency!" And with that she grabbed the receiver and lifted it to her ear.

"…Shoes and I walk in, ready for my dinner, but the table was empty – not even cutlery! And then I walked through every single room in the house but he wasn't there and I'm seriously starting to worry – which is a huge deal for me, because I don't usually worry about people or places or things. That was my mother's job, but Rory, I don't know where he is and I can't get him to answer his phone. I've tried religiously – oh, the irony, I know – to call him every 15 minutes so as to not clog the home line in case he was trying to call. I don't want to use the phone here any more than I can just in case he is trying to get through, but what do I do Rory? Rory! Are you listening to me? You haven't said a word! Are you there? RORY!"

Rory winced at the harsh sound now battering at her ear bongos. "Lane. I've been listening for a while – how do you expect me to interrupt your tirades, Kim? I have been privy to such speeches before and I am well aware when you wish me to speak and when not to. What can I do you for?" She said, while shifting in the bed so she covered herself in her sheets.

"Could you maybe call Dave's cell for me? As soon as he picks up can you find out where he is and call me back?"

Stifling back a giggle as a smooth, tanned hand began gently tugging at the sheet to expose her, Rory coughed, "Sure, Lane, Right on it. Calm down, go eat some pancakes!"

"Pancakes? How will they help?"

"My mom always said that pancakes can save the day and I still hold by that belief."

"That's fair."

"I'll call you."

"Okay! Bye – oh, and thanks!"

"Bye," Rory mumbled before guiltily flinching as she put the receiver back on the hook.

Feeling the tenseness pass through Rory's body, Dave frowned, "Rory, what's wrong?"

Rory sighed and sadly shook her head, "She's my best friend, Dave. She always has been. I have just slept with my best friend's _husband!_ Five times!"

Turning his back to her, he sat on the edge of the bed, "I'm sorry, Rory. I never meant to drag you into this or hurt you in any way. I know you probably just think this was a huge mistake," he trailed off for a moment, "and I agree."

"Dave, I –"

"Rory, don't worry. It's ok," he said as he stood up and put on his clothing, "just call Lane. Tell her I'll be home within 15 minutes and that the guys and I rehearsed too late so we decided to crash at Kyan's – give her the whole kit-kat-caboodle about lazy musicians if you must, she'll believe you."

Forgetting her lack of clothing, Rory stood up and reached for him, "But, I –"

Holding up a hand but refusing to face her, he halted her, "Rory. This never happened. I'll let myself out."

And with that, he was gone.

Twelve or so hours later, Rory Gilmore was once again found in her pyjamas eating a dessert from her freezer with her chord-less phone tucked between her shoulder and ear.

"So I asked him whether he had had sex with Annitia and he said yes. Then I said 'and how did you feel about that?' and the little brat said 'well, I started with feeling her boobs…'"

Laughing, Rory nearly choked on her banoffee pie, "He sounds like you did at his age!"

"Yeah, I recommended to the principle that he get expelled and go get a job at Wal-Mart."

"You didn't!"

"Yeah, you're right, I didn't. I kinda like the kid – I want to help him."

Smirking, Rory cooed, "Ooh, who woulda thunk it, huh? The school rebel becoming the school counsellor."

"Funny ole world, innit?"

At those words, Rory's face fell and she deadpanned, "It certainly doesn't amuse me."

A short pause resided on the other side, followed by, "ah… So the fragile doll forced itself out of its cage, got trashed off its face, and has done something now to crack its porcelain… I'm intrigued."

"Believe me," she moaned, "you don't want to know." 

A knock came from the door.

"Oh, it's that kind of trouble, huh?" He crowed, "well, come on, who's the lucky guy?"

"Seriously, Jess, It's not worth you getting involved in!" She grumbled as she undid the bolt on the door and swung it open.

"You know I love the juicy stuff, Gilmore! C'mon, can't a guy –" he stopped when he heard her gasp.

Dave was standing at the door, leaning languidly against the frame. He stood upright when he saw her. 

She stammered into the phone, "I-I-I've gotta go…"

"Gilmore, he's there isn't he? Who is it? Just tell me, You will eventually anyway. Hell, let me talk to him!"

Dave ignored the soft tinny voice and held Rory's eyes with a penetrating stare. In a soft voice he stated, "Rory… I can't go back to the way it was. I can't lie to you any more than I can lie to myself. It wasn't a mistake. I know it. You know it. I felt something and I know you feel it too. We'll figure out a way to deal with the others… Just… Please. I need you Rory."

Rory placed the phone gently down on the coffee table and reached up to kiss him.

As Dave kicked the door closed behind him and pressed Rory up against the wall, neither of them noticed the now far away gasp of,

"Was that _DAVE?_"

Take a step back. 

One day can change your life. Two can change your destiny. With the pair before us now we can see that those statements are all too applicable. What happened the pervious night could have been resolved as an act of anger. An act of desperation. It could have been dropped and blown aside as a mere incident. But the act was determined and definite now and therein lies the rising explosion of issues. Their secret is now known by one. One that, granted lives across the ocean, but one that holds a great power when it comes to connections with those involved. An emotion is passed between them as we see them climaxing against the hard floorboards in Rory's living room. Whether it is love, it is too soon to tell. But that emotion they have found is one they ne'er found in another. One that is as rare as a precious jewel…and just as fragile. One day for these two caused a problem. Two caused a predicament. The third day is just around the corner…and a plague of problems, predicaments and pain could lie ahead. The secret is out. Can they make it out alive?


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

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Why is it humans don't purr?

It's not like we're any different from cats.

We eat, sleep, and rub up against others of our kind…

Rory stopped and smirked as she pondered that thought.

__

We even do that more often than they do, if we're lucky.

We feel just as content… So why don't we purr?

How come when we purr we just sound as if we're trying to be sexy and failing miserably?

Or maybe we're just doing it wrong?

She cleared her throat and began to purr softly under her breath.

__

Sounds better, but not quite it…

She purred a little louder,

A fellow subway traveller inquired as to whether she would like a throat lozenge.

Take a step back. What the old woman in the tattered coat doesn't quite understand is that Rory is at a loss. She is utterly satisfied and for once in her life she has no form of expression to communicate her mood. We see Rory flash a thousand shades of ruby, before stuttering a negative response and turning slightly in the opposite direction. Still, her humiliation does not force her feeling of sublime fulfilment to yield. And why should it? For a extended period of time, this young lady -whom we see shining in happiness - knew nothing but the corners of the shadows. Being the wind beneath anothers wings brings little delight, and these past days of rendevous with a man who _needs_ her have brought her to this hieghtened state of bliss. But it can not last. Down in the foundation of her soul she knows this can not continue. What her heart forgets to ward her on, her head acknowledges. She has chartered unknown territory. She has become The Other Woman. She has flung herself into a situation that cannot be rectified. People will be hurt. Pain will reign. Whether she can spare her own heart in the process, one can only wait to see.

"Whitney, why is it that we can send a man to the moon, travel across our globe within hours, or create a triple glazed donut, and yet we haven't yet found a way to get rid of junk mail?" Rory seethed as a window flashed before her.

She'd never had 63 new messages awaiting her in her inbox at one time before.

The blonde laughed as she placed Rory's coffee mug gently next to a stack of purple post-it notes.

"God knows," Whitney giggled, "I'm contstantly getting emails telling me I can get my high school diploma in 12 days! I mean, duh!"

Rory clenched her teeth to stop her from retorting something along the lines of 'Duh! All you need lately to get a decent job is blonde hair and blow jobs - diplomas are _so_ passe!'

Instead she smiled painfully as her assistant flipped her hair and sashayed to the next desk.

Congratulating her self on a job well avoided, she opened her inbox prepared to delete the advertisements for hair removal, sex toys, degrees, or whatever it was that was flooding her system.

Her jaw dropped in shock when her inbox was fully downloaded.

63 e-mails all from the same sender.

'J Mariano.'

Wincing slightly, she pulled open the first and last e-mail.

'Rory.

Please call me NOW.

Jess.'

'Rory.

Please call me NOW.

Jess.'

Letting out the breath she hadn't realised she was holding she picked out a few random messages, each one holding the same message.

After a few moments of deliberation, she picked up the phone and dialled the familiar number.

Only two rings sounded before she heard his breathless voice fill the earpiece,

"Rory?"

She sighed, "Jess, hi."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"You know what."

She rolled her eyes, "obviously I don't know what or else I wouldn't have asked. Surely we've had this routine for years now, why don't you just tell me?"

He was silent for a moment, then, "What the fuck do you think you are doing?"

Floored by his obscenities, she stumbled over her words, "I d-don't know w-what you mean, Jess?"

"Don't play dumb. I've known you too long to think you're that stupid. Then again, you got yourself into this mess so I'm starting to adjust my opinion."

Sighing again, she spoke softly into the phone so as to not attract the attention of her Co-workers, "Jess, you know it's not that simple."

"What do I know? I'm sorry, but you haven't _told_ me anything yet!"

"You know," she whined.

"That you're sleeping with your best friend's husband?"

"I don't think Paris would appreciate being referred to -"

He interrupted her, "This is not the time for jokes and you know it."

"Sorry."

There was a pregnant pause as Jess collected himself.

"So," he started, "I would be right in assuming that last night while I was on the phone to you, Dave came to your house?"

Rory closed her eyes.

"Yes," She whispered.

"And I would be right in assuming that he is the man you had hinted at becoming involved in?"

"Uh-huh."

"So, naturally I would be correct in assuming that last night was not the first time you and Dave had had sex?"

Rory remained silent.

"Shit, Rory, what are you doing?"

"It's complicated!" She protested.

"You're damn right it's complicated! It's your regular fucking ABC after school special! Ror, you're having an affair with a married man. Not only that, but you're having an affair with a married man who is married to your _Best Friend!_"

"But they're both unhappy! And she -"

"She what, Rory? Gave him permission?"

"She has a guy on the side! Dave and I saw them together! Niether of them are happy, Jess! They fight all the time! And Dave and I… we…"

Jess groaned, "if you finish that sentence with 'are in love' then I may well throw up."

"Jess! Stop!"

"Stop what?" He drawled.

Rory could feel her eyes start to well up at his attack.

"I'm happy, Jess. Really happy. Happier than I've been for a long time. Happier than I've ever been with Dean, You, Josh, Pete, and especially Tristan. Don't ruin this for me! Please, Jess," she begged, "I really need you on my side."

He said nothing, so she continued, "I don't know about his feelings other than they are strong. He wants me. He said he needs me. And I think I might need him too," she trailed off and tried to swallow the lump that had crept into her throat.

A while passed where neither of the two spoke. She could tell he was mulling over what she had said, pondering the same dilemma she had faced herself not days earlier.

Finally, he spoke, "so, do we have a team name?"

She grinned and sat up straight, "you mean it?"

"Well, I never was one for sticking to the rules, was I?"

"Thank you so much, Jess, I -"

He interrupted her again, this time with a much softer, gentler tone.

"This doesn't mean I like how you're going about this, Gilmore. I'm extremely worried about you. And Dave, too. If this bond between you two really is," he paused and struggled to find words, "whatever it is you are hoping it is to be, then I am thrilled for you both. But it's not going to be easy, Rory. I hope you know that."

Rory, who had been practically bouncing in her seat, deflated. She hadn't wanted to confront that aspect of her situation just yet.

"I know that."

"Good. Well, I've been awake for far too long over this - I'm going to bed."

"Don't you have to work?"

She could practically hear him smirk.

"Details, details"

"Thank you, Jess," She said somberly.

"No problem, Gilmore. Good luck to you, call me soon, okay?"

They said their goodbyes and Rory slumped in her seat, not even bothering to sift through the stack of papers crammed into her 'in' tray.

Just as she was about to pick up her pen and notepad, a message popped up on her computer screen,

'Message L Dugrey

from D Rygalski

It appears you have forgotten your skirt.

Is skirt off sick?

Dave'

Letting out a giggle, she pulled the keyboard closer to her,

'Message D Rydalski

from L Dugrey

How dare you seduce me in this impertinent manner.

In future, use film references other than Bridget Jones' Diary - or better yet, get some of your own material.

Rory

P.S I'm not wearing a skirt'

Smiling to herself at the double entendre of her noting she was wearing pants instead, Rory waited for him to reply.

A moment later another message arrived,

'Message L Dugrey

from D Rygalski

Yikes, next time I try to be witty _and_ pop-culturally educated I shall remind myself not to try _at all._

You cut me deep, Rory. You cut me real deep just now.

You'll have to make it up to me later.

Dave

P.S I'm intrigued. Not wearing a skirt. Perhaps I should come to visit your office more often if the staff is always in a state of half undress?'

Rory stifled a giggle and blushed for what seemed the hundredth time that day. Hitting the reply button, she started typing with gusto.

Take a step back. One has to keep In mind that this is not innocent e-flirting. Not by any standards. Rory has already pushed her friends' words of warning to the back of her skull. She chooses not to heed his words, for her rose-coloured contact lenses have not yet fallen out. She is the victim of the honeymoon period. An unfortunate phrase in a situation such as this. In love with her best friends husband? She may not even consider the emotion coursing through her veins to be in league with such a term, but it is indeed true. She is in love. As is he. Their less than innocent form of escapism from their mundane and problematic relationships is far more intense than either have yet to realise. What exactly do they see coming from their trysts? Perhaps they are unsure or that themselves. It is unlikely, however, that they have fully grasped the enormity of their future. But then again, one can ponder. One can hypothesise. One can dream…


	9. Chapter Nine

_A/N: Hey guys! This is more of a filler chapter than anything – next up is some more Lorelai fun and some confrontation time! woot! Enjoy and don't forget to review :) :)_

**Chapter Nine:**

_Remember when playing Pretend with your friends was the most fun you ever had?_

_Like when you'd get to be the fairy princess locked in the tower, plotting against the evil sorcerer who put you there…_

_Or when you'd get to be on safari hunting the wild and ferocious gnomes in Babette's Jungle…_

_Or when you'd get to be Dorothy Parker and kill yourself in overtly dramatical ways…_

Rory frowned.

_Maybe I was a weird kid._

_Maybe I just didn't play the games right._

She looked around the dinner table at her companions.

_Maybe I was just used to playing Pretend on my own_

…_but it looks like we're all playing now._

Take a step back. The scene is familiar. The sturdy wood of Lane and Dave's dinner table is once more laden with gourmet goodies and fine wine. Not so sturdy is the very ground it rests upon, the foundations of the lives of those surrounding it. The lives, the lies, the veiled eyes, the games of pretend; all rife with danger. A danger that could detonate itself with the smallest slip-up. The new guy is perfect. A poster-boy pediatrician with a gentle nature and a gentle heart. What people don't know won't hurt them. Right? Lane gave Pete a picture of a soft-looking, beautiful, young woman and promised him a delicious home-cooked meal, what single man in his right mind would refuse? Lane didn't mention to him that the girl in question was a high-powered, prickly, divorcee. Pretending used to just be a game from our past. Somehow its worked its way into the games of our present. Pretending Rory is an ideal date, pretending she is the ideal host, pretending she has the perfect marriage… it was all pretend. But she figured he was best left in the dark. What she doesn't realize is that she's not the only one there pretending. What she doesn't realize is that she's right there in the dark with him.

"More wine?" Lane beamed at Pete, "It's cheap, nasty, and from Napa!"

She proffered the bottle at the man opposite her, her smiled faltering as Dave drawled, "Yes, that's it, Dear, get the guest drunk on cheap, nasty wine. _That'll_ make him think we're super classy!"

"'Cause you don't already sound '_super' _sophisticated as it is?" Rory teased, raising an eyebrow at him from across the table.

Dave stuck his tongue out at her and tossed a breadstick in her direction.

"It's delicious," Pete intoned quietly to Lane, hoping to ease the embarrassed rouge from her face, "but I really don't drink that much."

For what seemed like the hundredth time that night, an awkward silence fell upon the table as the others eyed up their drained glasses.

"So! Petey! We've barely heard a word out of you all night!" Dave exclaimed, sitting up quickly and leaning earnestly towards him. "We're all _dying _to hear more. Tell us about yourself – family? friends? fornications?"

Rory snorted.

Lane kicked her husband under the table.

Pete demurred and turned to Rory.

"My stories of friends and family pale in comparison to tales of your home, Rory. Stars Hollow does sound magical," he smiled and took hold of her hand, "I'd love to see it sometime."

Startled by his show of affection, she stammered, "w-we have a great web site…"

Pete burst into laughter, "you are _so _witty! 'We have a great web site,' that's golden! You media-types always were the comedy in the group!"

A strangled giggling sound came from Lane, "that's our Gilmore – laugh-a-minute Lorelai, we called her!" She stood up and started collecting plates from the table, "Rory, could you help me with the dishes?"

Pete stood up immediately, "Oh, Lane, don't worry, I'll help!"

"No!" She sqwaked, then coughed, "I mean… no, us girls'll do just fine! Come on, Rory."

Like a petulant child, Rory clumped the plates together and lumbered after Lane into the Kitchen.

The diminuative brunette rounded on her as soon as she was in the door,

"We have a great _web site?_" she hissed, "are you _completely_ socially retarded?"

Affronted, Rory dumped the plates in the sink, "I'm sorry, but I was a little thrown by his sickly sweet come-on! It was either say something stupid or get myself an insulin shot!"

The two glared at eachother before Lane sighed heavily and pulled some chocolate ice-cream out of the freezer.

"Rore," she said, sadly shaking her head, "he's a nice guy. He's fabulous to look at. He has a good job. He doesn't have any sort of psychological or sexually transmitted disease. And he likes you. Why is that so weird for you?"

She pulled a chair up to the kitchen counter and began eating straight from the tub.

Rory hesitated a moment, before grabbing a spoon and joining her. "I don't know… He seems too perfect. I guess I'm just afraid he'll drop a chainsaw on me in a stair-well or something."

Lane cackled, "to be fair, Christian Bale does have a great butt in that scene."

"Oh, so I can be American Psycho-d but you'd be ok with it because Pete has a nice ass?"

"Absolutely."

They both started giggling.

"Seriously, Rory, if you're not interesting in dating someone as great as Pete, who _are_ you going to date? You can't hide in the closet forever."

"Maybe I _should_ turn gay!" Rory laughed.

"That's not what I meant, I –"

"Lane, I know," she sighed, "things are just really complicated in my head right now."

Lane furrowed her brow and looked her friend over, "Complicated? How? Is there something you're not telling me?"

Unable to stop herself, Rory blushed, "No."

Dropping her spoon, Lane jumped up and down In her seat, "There _is!_ Oh my God, Rory, are you seeing someone?"

"No!" Rory shook her head, adamantly.

"Oh my God, oh my _God!_ Does your mother know? Is he cute? Is the sex any good?"

"I'm not –"

"Oh that means it _is! _Tell me _everything!" _Lane rested her elbows on the counter and propped up her chin, eagerly awaiting details.

Rory shook her head, speechless.

"Ladies, are we indulging in our cliché's a little early in the evening?" A voice echoed across the kitchen as Dave appeared in the doorway.

Rory pounced on her chance to change the subject, "Surely you didn't think ice-cream and gossiping is limited to any specific time of day?"

"No, I know you eat frozen dessert for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and assorted snacks throughout the day," he smirked, "its our poor dairy-deprived guest I'm concerned about!"

Lane flew out of her seat, taking the ice cream out of her comerade's hands, "Oh, poor Pete, I better take this tub out. Rore, can you get some bowls?"

Rory sighed dramatically and made after her with the crockery, giggling, "I feel like her slave tonight: 'CinderRory, get the plates! CinderRory, get the bowls!'"

Dave swooped in close, caught her elbow and whispered in her ear, "I'll make you _my_ slave later."

He nipped her ear softly and slid an arm around her,

"Dave," she gasped, her breath hitching up inside her throat.

Swallowing and taking a deep breath, she gave him a warning look, "we need to talk."

"I know," he said somberly, pulling her in gently and breathing in the smell of her hair.

"RORY!" Lane's voice bounced off the walls in the hallway, "Hurry up, the ice-cream will melt!"

He sighed and dropped his hand from her waist, letting her go. She walked past him and into the dining room, her fake smile plastered back onto her face.

Take a step back. The game is afoot, dear friends. Rory is once more accepting dinner-dates, pretending she is still looking for a lover. Dave is still accommodating his wife, pretending she hasn't already found a lover. Lane is clueless of the illicit dealings happening right under her nose, pretending that she herself is dutiful and blameless. What will happen with these lives? We can not know. Lane played with fire, and her husband has now caught the flame. But these fires… they will burn. These lies… they weave a tangled web. And someone is going to get caught. Someone is going to get strangled. Someone is going to get burned. And when they do, which of these liars will finally see the truth?

a/n: hope you liked it - more to come soon!


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